


Baker's Dozen

by Moss_Flowers



Category: Undertale
Genre: Baking, Bread, Cooking, allusion to bad things that happened in the past, mild allusion to eating disorder, picky eating, seriously though this is just a fluffy fic about bread baking and eating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-19 05:26:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17595383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moss_Flowers/pseuds/Moss_Flowers
Summary: Blackberry's old recipe helps him make a new friend.





	Baker's Dozen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lady_Kit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Kit/gifts).



The dough is warm and alive in his hands. 

Blackberry kneads the sponge firmly, methodically, in a spiral, so he can keep it in the bowl. 

The surface is rich, much richer than the underground they came from, the flour here is white and fine and silky soft, and so plentiful and cheap it would not matter if he dusted the entire kitchen to use as a kneading surface. 

But he is not making bread for a business, now, and he can afford to be sentimental. So he kneads it still in the bowl, in the spiral Twist taught him back before he could bake anything he wanted. 

Back when he was still so much smaller than everyone else, back when Muffet dazzled him with her constant measuring and checking and triple-checking the exact weight and ratio of every ingredient. 

He cherishes what he learned from her - the skill in math, in reading, in chemistry - and even if he can’t quite convince himself it was worth all it took to gain it, he can still let himself feel pride in the skill that’s now his. 

But this, this bread-baking, this is untainted. This he learned from Twist. 

Between the two of them, Twist has always been better with his hands. So way back when, back before he thought he could do anything, it was Twist who whispered secrets to him. The secret that Muffet had 6 hands to his two, and could do things faster - but not necessarily better. 

Twist who taught him the sleight of hand, the careful tilt of his fingers so only as much salt or sugar or flour poured out as he allowed, the skill in weighing and measuring and _knowing_ exactly how much he had and how much needed to be added. And if the two of them cheated with a little blue magic until he got the hang of it, well, it’s not as if Muffet ever caught on. 

Blackberry can scoop an exact tablespoon of sugar out of a tub in his sleep, with two fingers and no spoon. He’s had to, on the odd occasion, though now it’s merely a party trick, to manifest a perfect tray of pastries with nothing but a stocked kitchen and his own skill. 

But bread is different. Bread is alive in a way none of the cakes, cookies, doughnuts, or muffins could be. The yeast is affected by so many things - the temperature, humidity, air pressure - that exact measuring can only take you so far. To make a truly perfect loaf of bread, you have to know exactly what you’re doing, and how to react perfectly to how the sponge feels that day. 

Today it feels like it wants a little more flour, and Blackberry obliges. 

When the sponge is ready - and oh, how to define ready, when the only way to truly know is to feel the give and texture between his phalanges - he divides it as evenly as he can manage. 

He ends up with a little left over, just enough to make one extra small, squashed roll. Thirteen. A baker’s dozen. This, too, is how it should be. 

He places the rolls on top of the oven, already warm and busy crisping one of his sweeter recipes, and moves on to another project. 

When all is finished, and his friends have come, he watches. Not the way Twist watches, always a touch paranoid, but perhaps closest of all to Edge, and the food fixation he thinks he hides so well. 

The praise from the sleepier brothers is effusive, as always. None of them would have the heart to tell him if he did poorly, though he’s prepared enough to satisfy their collective sweet tooth that their second helpings are genuine enough. The more cheerful, active brothers seem preoccupied with the gentle ribbing that always goes with their brother’s eating habits, and Blackberry easily shrugs it off. 

Twist is the first to go for one of his rolls. He has always been too perceptive, even when Blackberry is sure he’s squashed every tell, and piles three of them on his plate along with various amounts of everything else. 

At the first bite Twist stares back at him, a nostalgic look in his eyes. 

Blackberry relaxes, takes a few bites of his own meal. And even though they both know the simple bread recipe doesn’t have near enough sugar to suit his brother’s taste, he eats all three. 

That would be enough for Blackberry. That’s all he’s ever wanted to do with his food - nourish and heal, yes, but also remind them of happier times. 

But he is not the only one watching, and Red, always looking out for his Papyrus, nudges Edge and glances at the rolls when the conversation takes the focus away from them. Edge narrows his eyes, Red maintains his stare, and Edge caves, taking the small, lumpy, misshapen thirteenth roll, the one that didn’t quite rise properly. 

It sits on his plate, untouched, and Blackberry is about to add his own input to the puzzle discussion when Edge rips a small portion of it off and pops it in his mouth. 

He can practically _see_ the moment Edge realizes it isn’t sweet. A second bite turns into a third, and even though that’s the only roll Edge takes that evening, he eats all of it, using pieces of it to dip into various other dishes. It’s the only thing he actually finishes. 

Red’s triumphant grin can’t entirely be attributed to the massive pile of macarons he snagged for himself while Edge was preoccupied. At least he knew well enough to leave the ketchup and honey flavored ones alone - Blackberry, personally, might not care what the others drink, but their brothers certainly do, and oddly-flavored macarons are his compromise - and if Red tried to take those he might get to see the Tale-verse monsters turn to violence themselves. 

They finish dinner. They watch a movie. Some of them make horrid jokes, and the rest act terribly offended. 

When they divvy up the leftovers, Twist makes direct eye contact with Red as he deliberately sets the rolls in two separate containers. He then immediately draws the attention of the other skeletons with a loud, controversial statement about the movie, and generally makes a nuisance of himself until Red has slipped one of them into his inventory. When Blackberry glances back, the second box is mysteriously missing as well. 

His brother’s sleight of hand, no doubt. 

That would be enough. That would be more than enough. Tonight he has received higher praise than all he’s had before combined, and the past has given him some high praise indeed. 

But the next morning, so early only bakers and, apparently, Guard captains would be awake, he receives a text message. 

_What recipe did you use for the bread?_

Blackberry has been blessed beyond anything he ever could have thought to want for himself. 

_Oh, that’s simple!_   
_41/2 cups flour_   
_1 tbsp salt_   
_2 cups warm water_   
_1 tbsp sugar_   
_4 tbsp oil_   
_1 tbsp yeast_

It’s a recipe he knows by heart. It’s one he’s had memorized for years. It’s the base for all his bread loaves. 

It’s one he almost never follows exactly. He’s never baked the same rolls twice; every sponge is different from the last. 

_If you want, I could show you?_

There is no response. Blackberry leaves it alone; Edge is a capable baker in his own right, and the both of them lead very busy lives. 

Days later, he and Twist are sitting on the couch, and his phone chimes. 

_When are you available?_

Blackberry’s squeal is so piercing and sudden it takes 5 minutes to convince Twist he hasn’t been injured.


End file.
